


Eyes of Storm, Lips of Light

by DaharMaster



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Chronic Pain/Illness, Consensual Spirit Possession, F/F, F/M, Gen, Loose Interpretation of Canon, Multi, Outright Dismissal of Some Canon, a LOT of characters (apparently), this will be long and take a while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22921180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaharMaster/pseuds/DaharMaster
Summary: A very different interpretation of the life of Andraste, well researched, but very non-canonical, though likely rather realistic. It may be easy to forget that Andraste was but a mortal woman who bore many hardships, but also great joy, and lived in a time of great strife. This is one author's unique ideas about that woman and her life.
Relationships: Andraste (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s), Andraste/Gilivhan, Andraste/Maferath, Andraste/Maferath/Gilivhan
Kudos: 2





	Eyes of Storm, Lips of Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Everyone on the Dragon Age Hell Discord server](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Everyone+on+the+Dragon+Age+Hell+Discord+server).



Sweet smelling steam and smoke filtered up through the thick thatching of the sweat hut beside the main hall of Caer Bendryn. Within a hot blaze of cedar packed with embrium, contained beneath river stones, smoked and smoldered.

Andraste lay naked and prone on a raised wooden pallet covered in bear furs, her long trusses falling down about her shoulders and framing her flushed visage which faced the hearth.

Tyrsa, Andraste’s concubine and caretaker stooped over the fire to lift a small cast iron bowl from where it had hung above it. She tested the temperature of the contents with a finger thoughtfully, then daubed it upon a bare breast.

Both Tyrsa and Andraste were already covered in a sheen of sweat which covered their naked bodies as Tyrsa approached the prone Andraste, setting the bowl upon the pallet next to her.

Andraste wrinkled her nose and chuckled.

“You used yarrow again, didn’t you? Smells awful,” she said in her low husky voice. Tyrsa shot her a look and raised an eyebrow, silently coating her hands in the warm salve of beeswax, fish oil, elfroot, and yes, yarrow.

“Want it to work, don’t you?” Tyrsa chided in a melodic tone, beginning to slowly and methodically apply the salve to the other woman’s legs and lower back, meticulously working it into the skin with slow and careful massaging motions.

“You know as well as I it doesn’t  _ need  _ yarrow to work…” Andraste protested.

“And  _ you  _ know yarrow makes it work better,” Tyrsa quipped with a wry grin.

Andraste closed her eyes, the eyes to which she owed her honor-name among her Alamarri kin. Storm-Eyes, they called her, not just for their striking ice-blue irises, but for the way lightning seemed to flash within them when her ire was raised, and also for the floods of tears they produced when she was with sorrow.

Though she’d never admit it to Tyrsa, the yarrow did seem to be helping. The tight, burning cold pain that shot through her legs and lower back atimes seemed to be slowly melting away, and as she inhaled the thick incense of embrium and cedar she could feel a sensation so rare to her, almost as if her lungs were filling completely, her breathing unhindered.

Suddenly there came a sharp whine from beyond the door followed by three scratches. Tyrsa started slightly then let out a musical laugh.

“Shall I let him in then?” she asked, but Andraste did not reply, not to her at any rate.

“C’mon then Kenndur, just give the door a shove, it may be heavy but so are you,” Andraste called out. There was a brief silence and then the door slowly creaked inwards, just enough to allow a well muscled brindled Mabari in. Tyrsa rushed to close the door as the hound bolted for Andraste, raising his muzzle to lick at her face, his stubby tail a happy blur.

Once satisfied, the Mabari curled up beneath where Andraste lay, but only after accidentally knocking over the staff she relied on for walking which had been propped against a beam nearby.

The two women both laughed at this and the hound seemed to smile, quite pleased with himself.


End file.
